Chapter 167
The room still smelled like new paint and lavender-scented cleaning spray. I stretched out on the bed for a moment, my bag tossed at the foot. Anna, my new roommate, moved quietly across the space, her long dark curls bouncing slightly with each step. She unpacked her things with a kind of grace that made it seem like she'd done this a hundred times before.
“So,” she said finally, her voice low and a little raspy in a way that made her seem even cooler, “Astrid, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, sitting up. “Astrid.”
Anna shot me a small smile. Her blue eyes were striking against her pale skin and all that dark hair. She wore a simple black tank top and ripped jeans, bracelets stacked on her wrists. Very 'don't-mess-with-me' vibes, but she didn’t feel unfriendly.
“I’m from the Nightshade Pack,” she said, casually tossing a few books onto her desk. “We're kind of the underdogs... no pun intended.”
I laughed, instantly liking her. “I’m from Bloodstone,” I said, deliberately not mentioning my last name. She didn't seem to recognize it, and I was grateful.
Anna tilted her head. “Bloodstone? You guys have a reputation for being... intense.”
I shrugged, smiling. “Depends who you ask.”
Anna smirked. “Good answer.” She flopped onto her bed, facing me. “You here for the summit politics crap or just the free food?”
“Both,” I admitted with a laugh. “But mainly... to learn. And maybe make a difference.”
“Brave,” Anna said, almost admiringly. “Most people are just here to make connections and show off.”
I could believe that. Walking through the buzzing corridors earlier, I’d caught flashes of tailored suits, polished shoes, and girls with glossy hair laughing a little too loudly. It was a parade.
“Wanna go check it out together?” Anna asked.
“Absolutely.”
We headed out, blending into the flow of young wolves making their way down to the main summit hall. The place was even livelier now — conversations bouncing off the modern walls, the air thrumming with ambition and nervous excitement. Oliver’s pack had definitely outdone themselves. Everything gleamed, from the floors to the huge glass windows that flooded the space with light.
“God, it’s like a werewolf version of a U.N. meeting,” Anna muttered under her breath.
I stifled a giggle as we stepped into the summit.
Rows of seats were arranged in a semi-circle around a podium where an older Alpha was passionately speaking about inter-pack alliances. Around the edges, smaller groups of junior ambassadors huddled together, exchanging animated discussions.
Anna and I squeezed into a spot near the back. Almost immediately, a boy named Thomas stood up — I recognized him from earlier — and launched into a fiery speech about new peacekeeping initiatives.
“We have the chance,” he said, his voice strong and full of conviction, “to make sure the old wars stay in the past. Trade agreements, communication networks between packs... we can build something better!”
A ripple of applause followed. I found myself nodding along, impressed. Passion like that was rare.
“I like him,” Anna whispered, leaning toward me.
“Same,” I whispered back.
And then...
I felt it.
A tug in my chest. Familiar. Raw.
Jeremiah.
My eyes scanned the crowd instinctively. I caught a glimpse of him near the far end of the hall. He stood tall and composed, his face unreadable as he spoke with a group of older wolves.
And beside him —
That woman.
Tall, strikingly beautiful, her platinum blond hair catching the light like a halo. She laughed at something he said, her hand brushing his arm lightly.
It was like a punch to the gut.
I looked away quickly, focusing on Thomas's speech, but it was too late. The ache was already burrowing deep. I shouldn’t care. I told myself that over and over.
“You okay?” Anna asked, noticing the tension in my shoulders.
“Yeah,” I lied. “Just... distracted.”
Anna didn’t press. She just offered me a small, knowing smile, like she understood what it felt like to fake a brave face.
After the speeches, the summit turned into a mixer. Tables lined the edges of the hall, serving snacks and drinks, and clusters of young wolves gathered around to chat.
Anna and I drifted toward a table laden with sandwiches and fruit.
“Best part of politics,” she joked, grabbing a plate.
We were mid-bite when two other junior ambassadors joined us — a girl named Leah from the Silvermoon Pack and a boy named Adrian from Red Ridge. Both were easygoing and funny, and before I knew it, we were laughing about the ridiculous formalities we'd already sat through.
“It’s like everyone’s scared to actually say what they mean,” Adrian said, rolling his eyes. “Bunch of fake smiles.”
“Typical politics,” Leah agreed, flicking her blond hair over her shoulder.
Anna leaned into the conversation easily, her sarcasm fitting right in. I found myself relaxing.
Maybe... this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Still, every few minutes, my gaze betrayed me — sliding over to Jeremiah, checking where he was.
Always with her.
At one point, they walked past our group. Jeremiah's arm brushed the woman's, and she laughed at something he whispered in her ear.
I bit the inside of my cheek until it hurt.
He didn’t even look my way.
Not once.
“You’re staring,” Anna said softly beside me, not judging, just... observing.
I sighed. “It’s complicated.”
Anna shrugged. “It usually is.”
I appreciated that she didn’t ask for the whole messy story. We went back to joking with Adrian and Leah, sharing horror stories from past training camps and comparing battle scars.
Eventually, a group started gathering near the far wall where someone had set up a makeshift dartboard — summit version of “unwind and get competitive.”
Adrian dragged us into it, insisting that “Bloodstone girls must have killer aim.”
I surprised myself by actually laughing.
Anna was fierce, beating everyone with dead-center shots. Adrian was terrible, Leah was decent, and me?
I wasn’t half-bad. Years of training had their uses.
As I lined up my shot, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.
Jeremiah.
He leaned against a nearby wall, that woman close beside him, watching the game with casual disinterest. His arms were crossed, muscles taut under his shirt, and he looked...
Ugh. So good it hurt.
But what stung more was the flicker of amusement in his eyes when he noticed me miss my shot.
Deliberate.
Calculated.
He was trying to get under my skin.
And it was working.
I turned away, shoving the dart back into Adrian’s hand. “Your turn.”
Anna leaned in again. “He’s an ass if he’s playing games.”
I smiled tightly. “He’s hurt.”
Anna's blue eyes softened. “Still doesn't excuse being cruel.”
I nodded, appreciating the blunt truth.
Later that night, as Anna and I walked back to our room under the soft glow of the moon, we talked about everything — music we loved, our favorite battle techniques, stupid things we’d done as kids.
It was easy with her. Natural.
She told me about her family — a messy, loving pack where she was the middle child of five siblings — and I told her about my mom teaching me how to shift for the first time, how my dad always pushed me to aim higher.
Anna was silent for a moment before she said, “Sounds like they’re proud of you.”
I looked up at the stars. “I hope so.”
Back in the room, as I curled under the covers, the ache from earlier returned.
Not as sharp, but still there.
Jeremiah.
I could still see his blank face, hear his cold words echoing.
"Desperation doesn’t look good on you."
I swallowed hard, pressing my eyes shut.
I wasn’t giving up.
Not because of pride. Not because of stubbornness.
But because I believed in us.
In what we had — or could have again.
If he thought I was going to crawl back home defeated, he didn’t know me at all.
I would make him see me again.
See us.
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